Angels Among Us
by Caught In A Simple Game
Summary: Sequel to The Demon's Pet. Dean and Zephaniah's story continues as he fights against The Mark of Cain taking hold, and she avoids waging war with Heaven.
1. Heaven

Zephaniah was gone again. Since she had come to live with the Winchesters in the bunker, there had been no kidnappings, but three times now, Zephaniah's fears had gotten the best of her.

"Garth hasn't heard from her," Sam sighed. "No record of her or anyone matching her description in any of the hospitals or jails in the area."

Dean sighed too, rubbing his temples. He checked his phone for the millionth time; nothing.

"Come on Zeph. Where are you?"

Of all the different kinds of pain Zephaniah had endured in her lifetime, she could only think of one that bested watching blood flow over her newly-healed skin. Just has she had when she endured torture before, however, she stood her ground and refused to show any sort of emotion.

"You will break," the angel sneered. "Eventually."

Zephaniah thought about when Dean was still a demon and had tortured her in Hell. This was nothing compared to the physical and emotional pain she had endured at Dean's hand. As much as she hated thinking about that time, it was what got her through each new bout of torture.

She had run away from the bunker twice before, out of sheer paranoia. Zephaniah just _knew_ that something was tailing her, and for the sake of her new family, she left. Dean had been frustrated the first time, but mostly relieved that she was all right. The second time she was gone nearly a week, and Dean's relief hadn't overcome his frustration and anger with her then.

" _You didn't leave a note or anything! Did it ever occur to you that I've been there when you've been taken? That I know the kinds of things that are waiting out there for you? For fuck's sake, Zeph!"_

 _She glared back at him, angered and hurt that, despite knowing those things, he couldn't begin to understand how she felt. "The only reason you know those things is because you've been the one doing the torturing before – remember?"_

Dean had walked away then, and Zephaniah knew that the hurt reflected in his eyes matched the hurt she felt over his lack of understanding. They had worked it out, and Zephaniah promised to never leave without telling him again. She could only imagine how ready he was _not_ to forgive her this time.

"I won't give my permission for possession," she told the angel. "Torture me all you want. It's nothing new."

The angel shook his head. "That's not what we want from you. If we didn't need you, we'd keep you here, to keep you out of Hell's reach, however."

"Then what do you want from me? Why the torture if there is no purpose?" Zephaniah countered through gritted teeth.

The angel raised his brow. "I thought they had informed you; no wonder you haven't broken. My apologies, dear girl." He snapped his fingers, and immediately the chains were gone and her skin was restored to its woundless condition. "We want you to help us, Zephaniah."

Zephaniah smirked. "How do I help you? You're angels. Far more powerful than I am."

"Can't argue there. Let me start from the beginning. My name is Josiah, and I've been placed in charge of this … mission, we will call it. We're soldiers by nature, us angels. Strategy is out strong suit."

Zephaniah shook her head. "I don't understand."

Josiah smiled kindly. "I know you don't; let me help with that. The Winchesters have been our allies more than once, but they'll soon unleash something that the world is not prepared for, Zephaniah. Dean will begin to lose control, and Sam will take drastic measures to save his brother, as he has always done."

"And where do I come into play?"

"Dean. You're one of the closest people to him now, perhaps even closer than Sam or Castiel. Your bond was forged while Dean was still a demon – you accepted him at his absolute worst. That means something to Dean that even he cannot describe. We need you to use that bond, Zephaniah, to keep him from making a terrible mistake but you need to do it without him knowing you're working with us."

Zephaniah shook her head. "I can't do that. Not to Dean. He isn't just some pawn in your everlasting war with Hell or Death or whatever. He is a Winchester, damn it! And moreover, he means more than that to me, for me to just betray his trust like that."

"You are the only one who can stop what is coming," Josiah emphasized. "Dean must be stopped, at all costs. Whether you persuade him away from the path he is going down or kill him and he becomes a demon again, Heaven doesn't care."

"Heaven doesn't care if Dean Winchester is a demon? Do you hear yourself?"

Josiah took a menacing step towards her. "Zephaniah, you may not want to believe it, but the world will continue to turn if Dean becomes a demon again."

"Not my world," Zephaniah replied calmly. "If this is how it's got to be, then I'll stay away from him."

Josiah chuckled. "You couldn't if you tried."

"Watch me," Zephaniah replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

A moment later, she was gone.

A few glasses of whiskey had coaxed Dean to sleep, but he was perfectly aware of the mattress sinking down next to him. He forced his tired eyes open; there she was. Zephaniah was next to him, in the flesh and no worse for the wear.

"Where were you?" Dean pleaded. He forgot about how angry he was and placed a hand against her cheek. Zephaniah leaned into his palm.

"Heaven," she replied. "The angels had me."

Immediately, Dean was searching her body again for wounds, for signs of torture, for anything that would give him a hint of what happened to her in Heaven.

"Dean," she said, taking his hands in hers. "I'm okay. They wanted to talk. They didn't want me. Not this time."

"What did they want?"

But instead of answering his question, Zephaniah dropped his hands long enough to go for the hem of her shirt and pull it over her head. She stood from the bed to push her pants down her legs, then took Dean's hand to pull him to the edge of the bed to sit. With a smirk on her face, she reached for the whiskey bottle on the night stand and took a good swig. Dean's smirk matched hers as he kissed across her abdomen. He reached the hemline of her panties and tugged it down just a bit to continue kissing into more intimate territory.

Zephaniah moaned quietly before stepping away from him. "Do you remember the first time we were together? When you had me against that wall in the hotel …"

Dean remembered. It was one of a few good memories he had of his time as a demon. Staggering only a little bit, he followed her to the far wall, picked her up and pulled her legs around him. He removed Zephaniah's bra before trailing nips and kisses from the hollow of her throat and down her sternum before turning the attentions of his mouth to one breast, and then the other.

Her breathing was heavy and her pupils lust-blown by the time Dean removed her panties – a technique he could still carry out with expert skill, demon or not – and knelt in front of her. Zephaniah ran her fingers through his hair as his tongue began to explore her newly exposed flesh. He had been going at it for a few minutes before he realized how quiet she was being; it wasn't something she had been concerned with since he had been cured.

"No good?" Dean asked, rising from between her legs and nibbling at her ear lobe.

Zephaniah rid him of his shirt, and then his belt. As she unbuttoned his pants, she gave him a positively mischievous grin.

"You're telling me you don't miss having to make me scream at all?"

Her hand dipped into his boxers to stroke at his hardening sex; Dean returned the favor by dipping two fingers into her wet entrance.

"I don't make you scream now?"

"You do," Zephaniah assured. "But this time, I'm going to make you work even harder for it."

Dean remembered well how crazy it had made him the few times he had her when he was a demon; apparently, it still had a very similar effect on him. He withdrew his fingers, forced her hand out of his pants, and carried her over to the bed where he plunged those same two fingers back into her while he sucked and nipped at her breasts. He knew when she climaxed because he could feel her walls flutter around his fingers, but she still didn't scream.

"You're in for it now," he warned, pushing her against the mattress before discarding his pants and boxers. Zephaniah giggled as Dean softly ran his lips up her body; the moment he claimed her mouth with his, he pushed himself into her.

Her sharp intake of breath told Dean that he was close to making her scream. He pulled her close against him and thrust in and out of her in an effort to pull the vocal proof of pleasure from her throat.

Dean was nearly to the edge when she finally called his name, probably loud enough for Sam to hear. Dean didn't care. Feeling her tighten even more around him pushed him over the edge, and he was further spurred on by knowing that the soft, smooth curves he was gripping at now belonged only to him.

Afterwards, they showered together and then laid back in the bed. The physical activity had rid Dean's body of most of the alcohol, but he still found himself ready to sleep. He breathed in deep and stroked through Zephaniah's wet hair.

"I was so worried about you," he confessed.

Zephaniah nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave you again. I never want to leave you."

"Then don't."

Zephaniah licked her lips and sighed. She traced over The Mark on his arm. "It may not always be that easy, Dean."

"Sure it is," he said, his eyes fluttering shut. "You stay, Zeph. Just stay."

Rolling over to spoon back against him, Zephaniah nodded against the pillow. She wanted to say something else, but the tears were already threatening to fall. Crying was something she still fought as often as possible, and tonight was no different.

Once Dean was asleep, Zephaniah eased herself off the mattress and went to the main part of the mattress.

"Castiel," she said out loud. "You're busy, I know but I – I need to talk to you. Please."

It took several minutes, but eventually, the angel appeared. "Zephaniah, hello."

"Hi," she greeted in return. "Did you know that the angels had me?"

"I did," Castiel replied, not looking proud at all. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Nothing you could have done, I'm sure. Do you know what they're asking me to do?"

Castiel frowned. "I assumed it was the usual request for possession."

"No. They want me for something else – something that could put Sam and Dean in danger. I told them no."

"You refused the angels?"

Zephaniah dropped into a chair. "I did. They thought I knew but there was some kind of confusion, and they tortured me for a bit before an angel named Josiah –"

"Josiah," Castiel nearly-growled. "Do _not_ join efforts with him, Zephaniah. His idea of what humanity needs is severely skewed, no matter how true and good his intentions are."

That was what she feared. "I suppose that tells me everything I need to know, then."

Castiel gave her a single nod, and then he was gone. Zephaniah looked down at her hands in her lap before looking around the bunker. Once she had come here, the feeling of home had been almost overwhelming. Now, the feeling of losing a place she had learned to call home – and the people in that home – were even more overwhelming.


	2. Danger

After her return from Heaven, Zephaniah was as distant as ever. She didn't disappear again – hell, she hardly left the bunker at all. If she spent more than an hour out of her room at a time, it was a good day.

When she wasn't in her room, she was most often found in the library. She refused to tell either of the Winchester brothers what she was researching; the most information Zephaniah ever gave them was, "Answers. I'm looking for answers."

Even Castiel claimed to be at a loss as to Zephaniah's new obsession. True to character, Dean immediately took the blame on himself.

"I know I did something, Sammy," he sighed, leaning against the wall. "I just don't know what it is. She won't talk to me. Even when I was - even when I was a demon, she would talk to me, you know? It was almost easier when I was a demon."

Sam raised a brow. "Really? It's that bad?"

"I don't know." Dean ran a hand through his hair. "What do I do? How do I get to her?"

"I'm reaching here, and I'm sure I know the answer," Sam started. "But have you told her that you, you know, love her?"

Dean's expression could only be described as green. "I don't even know if I do, why the hell would I tell her that? And even if I did know, Sam - I mean, look who you're talking to."

"Could be worth a shot, is all I'm saying," Sam offered before leaving the room.

Dean didn't like the sound of that. He admitted only to himself that before The Mark, it was far more likely he would tell a woman he loved her than it was now; something in his soul felt that much colder.

He supposed he could love Zephaniah. That cold spot in his soul seemed to warm in her presence, and she was the only one who had ever been able to calm him from The Mark's hold. No one else would have dared try to stop him when he was beating Xander in that apartment building complex.

The thought of anyone hurting Zephaniah caused his blood to boil. He could feel The Mark playing on that anger, begging him to feed it - to kill someone or something and not stop until it was satisfied. Dean knew, however, that The Mark would never be satisfied, no matter how many deaths he caused.

The wee hours of the morning snuck up on Zephaniah, but she was determined to find an answer to this. If she could break the connection between herself and Dean, then he would be rid of her, and the angels could no longer use her against him.

Her research on soulmates had turned up nothing, except proof that the connection between herself and Dean wasn't that. Knowing that so many things in life had been foretold, she then took to the history books, of all different cultures and religions, to find some sort of precedence to their current predicament. That search was in vain as well.

At a loss, Zephaniah turned off the lights in the library and started to head over to her own room. It had always been her own, but she had only slept there one or two night since coming to the bunker. Far more often than not, she had been in Dean's bed. Not that they were always having sex, but there was a significant comfort in being near each other.

Since their hot night after she came back from Heaven, however, Zephaniah had opted to stay in her own room. She knew that Dean was concerned with her sudden distance from him, but she couldn't give him the answers he wanted until she had the answers she needed.

Tonight was different. Zephaniah was feeling the heavy sadness of defeat, and simply getting a good night's rest wasn't going to fix it.

She knocked lightly on the door to Dean's room before opening it. He was still in jeans and t-shirt, boots still on, but he was leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed. His mouth hung slightly open, and his chest rose and fell in even breaths.

"Dean," Zephaniah called softly.

He startled from sleep, frowning as she came into focus. "Zeph. You okay?"

She nodded. "Can I sleep in here with you?"

"I'm not just here for whenever you want to get laid, you know." Dean threw his legs over the far side of the bed and stretched before going to his drawers to search for something to sleep in.

Zephaniah swallowed. "I suppose I deserve that, but that's not what I'm here for. I just - I don't want to sleep alone. And I know that I owe you answers, Dean, but for tonight, I just want to sleep."

His expression turned apologetic as he stripped off his shirt and pulled on a pair of gym shorts. He motioned for her to join him in the bed, and when the lights were off, Dean pulled Zephaniah close to him. His lips found the tender skin behind her ear.

"Are you upset that I've never told you that I," he paused, working up the nerve to say the words, "love you?"

Zephaniah shook her head; the only evidence of her response was the light sound of her hair against the pillow. "That isn't us, Dean. We've never needed to label our relationship or our feelings. I've just always known that I'm yours, and you're mine. That's all I need to know."

"Then tell me what I did wrong." His voice wasn't demanding; there was more of a sadness than anything to his statement.

Zephaniah turned over so that she was facing him. Even in the dark, she knew that he was looking at her. "It isn't you. I swear. I'm looking for answers I'm starting to realize I might not get. If I can't overcome this thing, then it could hurt you. And the last thing I want is to be the reason you get hurt."

"I'm not worried about getting hurt. As long as we have each other, we can overcome anything. We already have."

Wishing she had that kind of optimism, however rare it was coming from Dean, Zephaniah kissed him before rolling back over, pulling his arms as tight around her as she could get them.

The truth was, Zephaniah had been thinking of leaving for a while. Like she had told Josiah when he first approached her about stopping Dean from unleashing whatever was coming next, she would leave him before she would do anything that would bring him harm or, even worse, kill him and leave him as a demon again.

Walking out on her own, without reason, wasn't something she could bring herself to do. Since the night that she had re-joined him in his room, their bond had strengthened, it seemed. He need to be near him was swiftly reaching her need to not be the thing that brought him harm.

It happened in his sleep one night. Through the tossing and turning they both usually experienced, they had parted somewhere in the night. Zephaniah woke from her own set of nightmares and turned to Dean for comfort, not realizing that nightmares were plaguing his sleep as well.

It started out simple enough. He rolled away, as though he didn't realize she was trying to get closer to him. Zephaniah hugged him from behind and kissed his shoulder.

"It's just me," she said, softly.

Dean threw her arms away from him and, in one swift maneuver, was on top of her, his hands around her throat. Zephaniah coughed and flailed, trying to do anything she could think of to get him to stop. Even scratching and striking his face wouldn't stop him. When she somehow finally managed to knock a lamp over, it brought Sam running.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, pulling his brother away from Zephaniah.

The older Winchester struggled for only a few moments before he stopped fighting Sam and came back to awareness.

"Wh-What happened?"

Zephaniah couldn't believe that he didn't know. Still trying to normalize her breathing, she ran for her own room and locked herself in.

When morning came, she still hadn't slept. She knew that this was her out, but it still required some convincing to make herself pack the things she would need for an indefinite time away. She showered and dressed, then went to the kitchen. Dean and Sam were already there, sipping at coffee and both looking solemn.

"Morning."

Both brothers looked up from their coffee to where Zephaniah was standing, hands in the front pocket of the hoodie she had pulled on. Sam traded a look between Zephaniah and Dean before excusing himself from the room.

Dean set down his coffee and approached her; she cowered only slightly. "Zeph, I'm so sorry. Did I leave marks?"

"Doesn't matter."

Apparently, it mattered to Dean. He gently tugged down the collar of the hoodie to reveal harsh, finger-shaped bruises around her neck. "I didn't mean to, I swear. I was dreaming about being back in Hell, about being attacked – I didn't mean to."

"I know you didn't," Zephaniah said, pushing his hands away. "But I think we both know I'm not safe here anymore."

Dean's face fell. "You are. I told you, I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"Anything but you?" she countered. "Dean, you could have killed me last night. Do you understand the reaction that would have caused? We're lucky the roof didn't fall through or something."

"Please, don't leave me," Dean begged. "Even with this thing on my arm, I swear to you, I haven't felt this much like I was losing someone important since Sammy went into the cage."

Zephaniah tried unsuccessfully to hold her tears at bay. She leaned her head against his chest momentarily before taking a deep breath and saying the thing that she knew would break him; it was a necessary break. "You're not my safe place anymore, Dean."

Before he could convince her otherwise or see through her lies, Zephaniah walked away, picking up her bag in the hall just outside the kitchen.

And then she was gone.

Dean sat on the edge of his mattress a few days later with his head in his hands. As much as he wanted to follow Zephaniah out of the bunker the day she said she was leaving, he had convinced himself that she was scared by his actions and needed some time away. He knew all of the bad things that could happen to her while she was away, but Dean had to trust that Zephaniah could take care of herself while she sorted her thoughts.

Except that now her phone always went straight to voicemail and the GPS on her car had been disabled. There was no record of her at all the usual places, so Dean started to worry.

"Zephaniah is not in Heaven," Castiel had informed Dean. "I've got eyes out for her there. There's no word of her being in Hell or Purgatory either. I believe she is somewhere on Earth – I just don't know where."

And now, here he was, sitting on the edge of his bed, trying to figure out how things had gone so wrong. It hadn't been that long ago that Zephaniah had offered her life for his - and he had been a demon at the time. She had accepted him for who he was, more than anyone in his life. Now the woman Dean had thought would be by his side for the rest of his life, however long or short of a timeframe that might be, had seemingly fallen off the face of the Earth.

Sam stood in the doorway of Dean's room. "I know that you're not in a good place right now. I've got trackers on Zeph, and as soon as something comes up, we'll check it out. In the meantime, there's something bigger we need to look into."

"Yeah, all right. Tell me what you've got," Dean sighed, following his brother to the main room of the bunker.

If he couldn't find Zephaniah, he would let himself be distracted enough not to care until a lead presented itself.


	3. Return

It wasn't terribly long later that Zephaniah once again found herself settling into a new home - as much as she could call any place that.

Her studio apartment was tiny, but she made it work. Waitressing again brought back many unpleasant memories and fears, but it was something she would have to deal with for the time being.

When she wasn't at the diner, Zephaniah was deep in research. Every religion had its own answer, it seemed, to cure a person of various spiritual afflictions. None of them had a way for her to rid Dean of The Mark, and until she found that, there was no going back.

So, Zephaniah covered her tracks as best she could. She kept her old phone in service but powered off so she could check the messages from time to time, but used an new burner in the meantime. She used a false name that she was sure no one would track, had all of her mail sent to a post office box, and warded herself and her apartment like she never had before.

Not to say that she didn't miss Dean. Every time she found herself once again the recipient of unwanted attention from a male customer, she thought about Dean protecting her from Xander. Every time she ran from someone she was sure was a demon or an angel, she thought about running back to the safety not only of the bunker, but of being with Dean.

The problem of being safe with Dean, was that Dean wasn't safe with her.

Claiming to be an agent from one agency or another, Dean stood with Sam in the watchman's room at a prison where a man on death row had seemingly disappeared right out of his room without unlocking the door or setting off any alarms.

They replayed the video from the night the man had disappeared, and when the man stopped outside the convict's cell, it struck a familiar cord with Dean.

"Pause that - zoom in," Dean instructed.

"We already tried, can't see the guy well enough to identify him."

"Just do it."

The prison officer complied and zoomed in on the silhouette. Dean knew who that was, and if there was any doubt in his mind, the burning of The Mark on his arm confirmed it.

"You're sure that's Cain? I mean, how do we even track him to find out?"

"We'll get Cas on it," Dean replied. "He's the only chance we have to find Cain."

Castiel didn't have to look long to find Zephaniah. With her soul holding the key to Heaven, looking for Zephaniah was as simple as finding another way to get to a home you had known all your life.

The diner she was working in now was even more dingy than the one she had been working in when she met Dean as a demon. A thin coat of grease seemed to coat everything in the place, and a fog of cigarette smoke left a stale smell in the air. Castiel was extremely weary of the humans in the place; they were the kind to take what they wanted without permission and not bother to ask forgiveness after the fact.

"What'll it be?" a cross young woman asked him, not even looking up from the order pad she was holding in her hand.

"An explanation," Castiel replied.

Zephaniah lowered the order pad from her view. "Castiel. Why are you here?"

He stood, towering over her small frame. "I came to bring you home, Zephaniah. This is not where you belong."

Zeph stood a little more composed. "I don't belong anywhere. If my life has taught me anything, it's that."

Castiel took her by the arm and dragged her out the front door of the diner. Either no one noticed, or no one cared, and it worried him even more for her. "You belong with Dean. You have no idea what he is up against!"

Zephaniah wrenched her arm from his hold, set her hands against his chest and shoved the angel back. " _You_ have no idea what he is up against! I left for a reason, Cas, not because I just wanted out. Dean and I are not soulmates so the connection between us is nothing that cannot be broken without a great deal of fallout."

All at once, Castiel let out a frustrated growl and pinned Zephaniah against the nearest wall. With his arm across her collarbone, she could still breathe, but she was by no means in a comfortable position.

"Soulmates or not, you two are meant to be tied to one another, Zephaniah Jordan. Dean needs a reason to fight The Mark of Cain, and without you, he is losing that fight. You have two choices: tell me why it is you left, or I will tell Dean where to find you. I know better than to believe you no longer felt safe with him."

Tears filled Zephaniah's eyes; Castiel loosened his hold on her. "You're right. Dean is the only place I have ever felt safe in my life. The truth is, Dean is not safe with me."

As her entire encounter in Heaven with Josiah spilled out between sobs and tears, Castiel began to understand why Zephaniah had taken the opportunity to leave when she did. Dean would never drag her back to a place he believed she wasn't safe, but if he knew that she believed herself to be the problem, he wouldn't stop searching for her.

"Until I can find a way out, please Cas. Promise me you won't say anything to Dean," Zephaniah said, wiping her tears away. "I can find a solution to this. I know I can."

Although Castiel feared the measures Zephaniah would be willing to go to in order to spare Dean from this current predicament, he made the promise and disappeared.

The call from Castiel as to Cain's whereabouts came long after Dean would have preferred. The inmate that had disappeared from the prison was dead, Castiel could confirm, along with a numerous list of other males.

"He's wiping through his entire bloodline," Castiel announced. "I'm sorry I couldn't bring better news."

"Not your fault, Cas," Dean said. His mind was already reeling with the possibilities. "We just have to track Cain down. Then I'll do what I have to do."

"Which is?" Sam questioned.

Castiel didn't like how this sounded. "Dean, this isn't –"

"It is the only way. Cain told me this day would come, and here it is now."

"There's only one thing that will kill him," Sam pointed out. "And if you go there, alive or dead, there may not be any coming back from this."

Dean pursed his lips as he packed his bag. "Yeah. I know. Sam, do your research. Let's figure out where he's going next."

The shifts after Castiel showed up seemed to drag along. The scumbags hitting on her were relentless, it seemed. Tips were shrinking, and even her co-workers were working on her nerves.

After a particularly difficult shift, Zephaniah clocked out and got in her car. She leaned against the steering wheel for just a moment before pulling out her phone to connect to the voicemail on her old number. Dean hadn't called in days, but she had several messages saved. Just the sound of his voice could quell the tension over a long day at the diner.

 _One new message._

Zephaniah's breath quickened at the automated words. She listened to the time and date stamp and tried to focus on the words that would follow.

"Hey, Zeph. It's me. I don't know why I'm calling when this shit keeps going to voicemail, except I keep telling myself that if you didn't want to hear from me at all, you'd just disconnect the number."

He knew her too well.

"Cain re-surfaced. He's killing everyone in his line. He's got his aim next on this ten-year-old kid who probably doesn't even know about any monsters or demons or anything. It's got to stop – I've got to stop Cain, or it will _never_ stop. You and I know both know what that means, going into this. So, seeing as how this may be the last message I leave you – I know I've said it a million times by now, Zephaniah, but I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I hurt you. That I gave you reason, ever, demon or human, not to trust me. I need – I need you to know, though, that if things were different … if this was another life … I'd still choose you."

The message ended then. Zephaniah disconnected from the voicemail line and tossed the phone on the passenger seat. Although she was tempted to listen to the message again, to concentrate on the goodbye that Dean meant for it to be, she ignored the temptation, put her car into gear, and headed for Lebanon, Kansas.

The fight with Cain left Dean drained, beaten, and wondering where The Mark would take him next. Using the First Blade again, killing with the weapon, it wasn't the heavy burden he thought it would be. It was a relief. It was the weight of Sam and Castiel and Crowley and Zephaniah and all the lives he lived to save lifted from his shoulders.

It made him long for the time when he was demon, which immediately brought back some of that burden.

"Dean."

And now he was hearing things. He knew that people under extreme stress often heard things in the voices of the people they needed most. That must have been why he heard Zephaniah saying his name now. He set his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands. He concentrated on the stress, hoping that it would bring her voice to his ears again.

"Look at me."

Dean opened his eyes and she was there. "Zeph?"

"Oh my God …" Zephaniah kneeled in front of him while Dean worked to process that she was really there. Her hands cupped his face ran softly over his arms and torso while she searched for mortal wounds. "I'm so sorry. If I had been here …"

"It still would have happened," Dean said, taking her hands and pulling them over his shoulders as he snaked his arms around her waist and held her close. "I can't believe you're here. Zephaniah, I'm so sorry …"

"No, don't apologize anymore," Zephaniah said, her voice thick with tears. "I should have been here. Are you okay?"

Dean held her closer and allowed his own tears to fall. "I am now."

In the morning when she woke, Dean was gone from the bed. Zephaniah heard the shower going, so she took the opportunity to wash off the grime from the diner and a night on the road.

Stripping down and stepping into the tub, Zephaniah pressed her body flush against Dean's back. He had one hand pressed to the wall where the shower head was mounted keeping him balanced as he allowed the hot water to run over his body. Zephaniah wrapped one arm around his torso, placing her hand over his heart.

"I can't promise that I'll stay," she said. "But I'll be here as long as I can."

Dean's hand covered hers, and he nodded before turning to face her. Droplets of water peppered her cheeks as he leaned down to connect his lips to hers.

Once Zephaniah had found some of the clean clothes she had left behind, she borrowed Sam's laptop to check her email. It wasn't something that had ever been a priority before, but since she had dived into the depths of research on ridding Dean of The Mark, the internet and email had become a whole new level of resource to Zephaniah.

Most of the emails she had gotten were junk, but one of them nearly jumped off the screen at her.

 _From:_ _undergroundanswers_ _  
To:_ _zephij_

 _Subject: MOC_

 _Ms. Jordan,_

 _Your recent inquiries regarding a cure for The Mark of Cain have reached my ears. I represent ReliQuest, an underground organization in the business of locating and procuring ancient relics, spells, and the like. I believe that I may have an object and accompanying spell that would be most interesting to you, if you are able and willing to make a trip to meet me in Israel._

 _Contact me back as quickly as you can, Ms. Jordan. This option will not be available for an extended period of time._

 _Sincerely,  
J. Shamayim_

Zephaniah wasn't sure what to think about the email at first; an internet search on ReliQuest brought up nothing. It was the same result for a search of _J. Shamayim_. Though the message threw up a huge red flag, Zephaniah had reached a desperate level.

 _From:_ _zephij_ _  
To:_ _undergroundanswers_

 _Subject: Re: MOC_

 _Please provide me with a suggested time, date, and meeting place so that I can make arrangements._

 _Zephaniah._


	4. Control

"He thinks he can control it."

Zephaniah looked to her side. Sam was standing next to her, also watching Dean drink his coffee and read the newspaper in the morning. He hadn't had a drink since she came home.

"I was kind of hoping it was me," Zephaniah confessed. "The not drinking and the not eating crap food. The happy mood."

Sam squeezed her shoulder. "It is you though, Zeph. Dean thinks he can control The Mark and he wants to do it so you'll stay."

Dean got up from his chair and set the mug in the sink. "I can hear you two. This has nothing to do with you, Zephaniah. The point is, I have control over The Mark."

"Right," Sam said, raising his brow and moving around Zephaniah to get into the kitchen to make breakfast for himself.

Zephaniah followed Dean out of the kitchen. "You can't do this for me, Dean, as much as I wish you could. The Mark is – it's the The Mark. You and I are not stronger than The Mark."

Dean roughly grabbed her arm, and his eyes went cold for a moment. Zephaniah gasped a little, immediately backing away from Dean. He recovered and dropped her arm, apologizing quietly.

"You see," she said, "you're not as in control as you think, Dean."

She disappeared into her room then, locking the door behind her. Zephaniah forced back the tears brimming in her eyes and rubbed her arm. There was a good change she would bruise, but she couldn't think about that right now. She had an email to answer.

 _From:_ undergroundanswers _  
To:_ zephij _  
Subject: Meeting_

 _Ms. Jordan,_

 _I can meet you in Israel at your convenience. I have a measure of time, but neither of us have a bounty it. I encourage you not to delay our meeting for too long. If the situation is as dire as you make it sound to be, the darkness is not far behind._

 _Sincerely,  
J. Shamayim_

Zephaniah stared at the screen. She had received the email almost two weeks ago, and it had changed the direction of her research from ridding Dean of The Mark, to what this J. Shamayim could possibly mean by "the darkness." She had exhausted every possible research avenue, except for two. She wouldn't risk the relic by furthering her inquiry, but she couldn't meet with Shamayim without knowing what they were all walking into if she decided not to go after the relic.

Her other option wasn't one she was exactly keen on taking advantage of, but it was the only option she had left.

With a deep breath, Zephaniah closed her eyes. "Castiel, I need to talk to you. I need it to be when we're just the two of us, when no one else can hear. It's – it's important."

Knowing that her request was not likely to get her any immediate answers, Zephaniah took a deep breath, closed her laptop for now, and went to find Dean.

Dean was staring a tumbler half-full – or was it half-empty? – of bourbon. The melting ice was already sure to leave a ring on the table in the war room, but he didn't care about that. He only cared right now about the look in Zephaniah's eyes when he had grabbed her arm that morning.

He had felt The Mark begin to awaken the moment he grew angry over what she had said. _You and I are not stronger than The Mark._ Perhaps it hadn't angered him so much as it had hurt Dean to hear her say that, but he was a product of his upbringing. He knew only one way to deal with his pain, and that was usually anger.

So here he sat now, staring at that tumbler of bourbon. If he wasn't stronger than The Mark, if _they_ weren't stronger than The Mark, what was the point in staying away?

"Don't drink that," Zephaniah told him, sliding the glass her direction and downing a large portion of its contents. She took a seat across from him, staring at the glass and, it seemed, refusing to look at him.

Dean crossed his arms. "Why shouldn't I?"

Zephaniah took a deep breath. "Because I was wrong to say what I said. I don't know if we're stronger than The Mark, Dean, but I know that I want us to be. I mean, look at everything we have been through. You were a demon and I couldn't stay away from you. I didn't want to. And I don't want to now."

"I don't know if I can control it forever."

"We both know you won't. Cain lived with it quietly for thousands of years, century after century. He still succumbed to the monster The Mark wanted him to be." She stood up, downed the rest of the bourbon, and went over to where he sat. She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders best she could, and kissed his cheek. "What I do know, though, is that I'll be by you every step of the way. Until the day I die, no matter how crazy things get, you and I are going to stick this thing out together."

Dean turned his head to face her. "And what if I hurt you? What if I'm the one who kills you?"

Zephaniah showed him a sad smile. "We both know what will happen if you or anyone else tries and succeeds to kill me. But, if it is you – I forgive you."

He pulled her into his lap, settling her head against his shoulder. With the exception of their intimate moments in the bedroom, it wasn't often that Dean and Zephaniah had affectionate moments like this. They both had learned to appreciate those moments as they came.

A couple of nights later, Zephaniah was sleeping soundly next to Dean when she heard her name, plain as day.

"Zephaniah."

She woke slowly, listened carefully, and heard the voice again. Getting out of bed, she wasn't at all affected by the chill that usually took over the bunker overnight. Padding barefoot out to the library, Zephaniah was greeted by an angel in a trench coat.

"Castiel. I was beginning to give up on you."

Castiel nodded. "My apologies. I was trying to find a moment when we could speak alone, but it became apparent that this is the only way."

"I _am_ dreaming, then?"

"You are, but I'm really here. It's complicated." Castiel paused for a moment. "You said you needed help. I'm here to assist."

Zephaniah took a seat, sitting up straight and prepared for whatever information Castiel could give her. She told herself she was even prepared for him not to have any information.

"Castiel, is there ... the darkness. Is that a thing? Or a concept?"

The look on Castiel's face was near horrified. "Why do you ask?"

She swallowed hard. "If someone said to me that the darkness is not far behind us all – what would that mean?"

Castiel took a seat now; Zephaniah had never seen an angel in such a state of sudden unease. It was as though whatever 'the darkness' meant, Castiel already knew that neither Heaven nor Hell could stop it.

"The Darkness," Castiel said, "Is not a thing or a concept. The Darkness is a being. In the beginning, there was only The Darkness. God followed not long after. When He created the archangels, they waged a war against The Darkness, and when she was weakened, He caged The Darkness away, using The Mark as the lock and key. The Darkness cannot be killed because she balances God; they are the truest exemplification of Light and Dark, Good and Evil. The Darkness corrupted Lucifer and caused the Fall of Man."

"And all of that is encased in The Mark on Dean's arm," Zephaniah breathed out. She felt as though she would stop breathing at any moment; that her heart would give out and she would keel over. "If we destroy The Mark then, get rid of it ... what happens to The Darkness?"

"I honestly don't know."

Zephaniah nodded, slowly letting out her breath. "I've been in contact with a man in Israel who says he has a way to rid Dean of The Mark. I haven't replied yet. I needed to know about The Darkness first."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Zephaniah."

"I don't have a choice!" she exclaimed, pushing out of the chair. "You know that Josiah and all of Heaven would still come after me if I had not so blatantly refused their request. Fuck, they may still come after me again, and not be so courteous with their offer this time. The point is, Dean is not safe with me until The Mark is gone."

"That doesn't make it your responsibility to find a way to get rid of The Mark," Castiel argued.

Zephaniah turned back to him. "I don't expect you to understand. I know, Castiel, that you have done so much for me. You healed years' worth of physical wounds and scars. Dean, though, has only begun to heal a lifetime's worth of emotional wounds and scars. Without him, I may never be truly whole again. Until you know the weight of that in your life, you cannot tell me what is and is not my responsibility."

Castiel stared her down for a few moments before his shiny, silver angel blade fell from the sleeve of his coat. He held it in both hands, presenting it to her.

"In that case, you should take this with you. You're right. The angels may yet come after you. Hell could do the same. It's better that you have the extra protection. Especially since I will not be able to come if you call."

"Why not?" Zephaniah frowned.

Castiel laid a hand over her ribs. Pain seared through her torso until the reality of the room around her faded away, and she was suddenly upright in bed next to Dean, drenched in a cold sweat.

"You all right?" Dean murmured, his eyes still closed but his hands reaching out for her.

Zephaniah looked to the nightstand next to the bed and saw it; a muted gleam of an angel blade in the dim light coming from the hallway. Swallowing hard and settling back against Dean's warm body, she nodded.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

 _From:_ _zephij_ _  
_ _To:_ _undergroundanswers_ _  
_ _Subject: RE: Meeting_

 _I will be in Israel three days from the date of this message. I do not wish to delay this even that long, but travel accommodations have been made for that time frame. Please let me know of more specific details as they are available._

 _Zephaniah_

 _From:_ _undergroundanswers_ _  
_ _To:_ _zephij_ _  
_ _Subject: RE:RE: Meeting_

 _Ms. Jordan,_

 _We will find you after you have arrived._

 _Sincerely,_

 _J. Shamayim_ _  
_

Two nights before her flight to Israel, Zephaniah approached Dean in the kitchen. She hoisted herself up on the counter and prepared for an awful reaction from him.

"I'm leaving."

Dean looked up from the dishes he had been washing, sadness and fear etched into every line on his face. "You're leaving again?"

"I am," Zephaniah confirmed, "but I'm not leaving you. I really need you to understand that. I'm not running away again. I may have found an answer for all of this, Dean, and I'll never forgive myself if I don't go after it."

Dean dried his hands and stood in front of her. He brushed the hair out of her face. "You promise you're coming back?"

The gravelly edge of his voice, the nearness of his body, and the intense stare of his green eyes ignited a familiar fire deep in Zephaniah's soul. She took Dean's face in her hands and kissed him, hard and wanting. Dean's arms went around her waist, and Zephaniah carded her fingers into his hair.

Dean picked her up from the counter, intent on taking her to the bedroom and extinguishing the fire that had started in her and spread to him. But first, he needed to hear her say it.

"Promise me you'll come back, Zeph."

Nearly breathless, she nodded. Looking him directly in the eye, she said the words he needed to hear. "I promise, I'll come back to you."

In that moment, Dean realized the reason there was no necessity of 'I love you' between Zephaniah and himself. They would always come back to each other, no matter the circumstance, and that was all the love either of them needed.


	5. Liar

Zephaniah sat at the table in the war room with her head in her hands. Dean paced back and forth in front of her, trying to persuade her not to go to Israel.

"Dean, we've been over this a million times now," Zephaniah groaned, letting her arms fall to the table. "I'm going to Israel. There could be answers there, and I have to follow them."

"You don't. Charlie is onto something she said, we should let her figure that out before the both of you risk your lives trying to fix my problem."

Zephaniah was furious; it had been a while before anger took hold of her so quickly. She shoved out of her chair with such fervor that the wooden chair fell back, slapping against the wooden floor.

"Your problem?" she seethed, "You think this is only your problem? What about Sam who had to watch you take hold of the First Blade and wonder if it was going to be you or Cain coming from that room! And if it was you, how was he supposed to know if you were really going to be you? Or Castiel, and angel and your family, who had to watch you wreak havoc as a demon. Or me, Dean. I was tortured by you, in more ways than one, while you were a demon. You may think all of that is over because you're human again, but guess what? We all live in fear that The Mark is going to take hold and we'll lose you for good while you're standing right in front of us. This is _not_ only your problem!"

It was Dean's turn to put his head in his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair and held his hands up in defeat. "Fine. You're right. I took The Mark, and I caused the problem for everyone else. I make a mess of things and then everyone else is left to clean it up, right?"

Zephaniah rolled her eyes. "No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to pity yourself. Yes, you too The Mark, but damn it, you did it for a good reason. You did what you had to do, but instead of looking at it like the rest of us cleaning up your mess, why don't you look at as your family being behind you? We are all you have, and you are all we have." She threw her head back and tried to lower her voice. "I'm going to Israel. If Charlie comes back with something that works, you call me, and I'll be on the next flight back to the States. Until then, I'm not passing this up."

She walked out of the room, headed to pack a small bag with only the essentials she would need for her trip. Her bag was packed and zipped, and she was verifying all of her travel information when Dean knocked on her door.

Zephaniah looked entirely defeated. "All we do is fight, Dean. We fight to stay together, we fight to stay alive, we fight with each other. I don't want to fight anymore."

"I'm not here to fight. You're right," he shrugged. "It's not just my problem. But you can't convince me it isn't my fault. Which is why if you go do this and something happens to you ... I still haven't forgiven myself for torturing you in Hell. How do I forgive myself if you go on this trip and something happens to you?"

Zephaniah looked around for a moment, then shrugged. "You keep going. You keep looking for answers. You don't stop trying for one moment to be better than The Mark. That's how."

Dean didn't like it, but the matter had been decided. Zephaniah asked him to take her to the airport in the morning, and he jumped at the chance. Every second she was there could be their last together, and he didn't want to spend even one more second fighting.

They would go to the airport together in the morning, but Dean was going to spend these precious minutes with Zephaniah while he could. He trailed a hand down her jaw before brushing his lips over hers. Zephaniah let out a breath; he could feel relief ease the tension in her muscles.

Without hesitation, Zephaniah reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. She went up on tiptoe to kiss him again, with far more fervor than he had kissed her. She played with the short hairs at the back of his head, pressed her body against his and begged him to love her.

"It could be the last time," Dean said against her lips. He could feel a lump rise in his throat, but Zephaniah threw her own shirt off and loved his worries away.

The flight to Tel Aviv was longer and more arduous than Zephaniah was prepared to endure. With two layovers, it was over twenty hours of traveling, and she was exhausted. She arrived at the hotel there in the wee hours of the morning, and when she woke, she shouldered her bag and boarded a train to Jerusalem.

The hotel there was simple but accommodating. Zephaniah would sleep for a while she decided, and wait for J. Shamayim to show up. She was still worried about the connection of The Darkness to the whole matter, how this person had any clue about The Darkness, and what would happen if she could not stop all of it. Not to mention, the fact that the ReliQuest people would be finding her ...

Just to be on the safe side, Zephaniah sent an email to confirm her arrival in Jerusalem. She sent Dean a text to let him know she had arrived safely, then settled in to sleep. When she woke and showered hours later, it was morning. There were no messages for her at the front desk and no signs that anyone was coming to meet her. She had not planned on an extended stay overseas and wasn't interested in changing her plans.

But when she pulled up her email to write a scathing letter to J. Shamayim about making her wait, there was already an email waiting for her.

 _From: undergroundanswers  
To: zephij  
Subject: Meeting Location_

 _Ms. Jordan,_

 _As we have not been able to locate you as planned, we have set up a time and location. Go to the open market at noon, and you will receive further details upon your arrival._

 _Sincerely,_

 _J. Shamayim_

Zephaniah nodded and closed her computer. She had just under thirty minutes to get to the open market. The relic that could possibly cure Dean of The Mark of Cain was within her grasp, it seemed. Anticipation flooded her mind, but she tried to keep her breathing even and composed as she rode in the back of the cab to the open market.

She had been roaming the streets for only a few minutes when a black sedan pulled up next to her. Two men got out of the back of the car; one held the door open while the other gagged her and tossed her roughly into the backseat. She fought and struggled against them tying her hands behind her back, but they were much stronger than she was. Finally, she quit struggling and sat back against the seat.

As the car pulled into traffic, the front seat passenger turned around. Zephaniah's eyes grew wide as she realized Josiah was the man staring back at her. She had only a few moments to process it all before the man who had held the door knocked her over the head with something solid and hard, and everything went black.

When she came to, she was laying on the bed in her hotel room. The two men who had accosted her in the street were standing by, and Josiah was looking out the window of the room.

"It was you," Zephaniah sputtered out. "You are J. Shamayim."

"The word translates to 'Heaven' in Hebrew. All that research, Zephaniah, and you haven't come across it once. Or rather, you have and you chose not to think it through. Dean Winchester is quite the weakness for you."

She coughed as she sat up, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain in her head. "You lied to me. What is it that you want me so bad for that you had to lie to get me here? Halfway around the fucking world."

"Language, Zephaniah. You are in the presence of angels, after all." Josiah gave her an amused smiled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Please, do get up. Get yourself a glass of water. We'll order up room service after we're through."

Zephaniah got up, but re-thought the glass of water. She pulled the angel blade from under her pillow and pointed it at Josiah. The two other angels came at her, but the first one was dead before the second got to her. It was a bit of a struggle, and she was on the floor with a split lip before the other angel was killed. Eventually though, she was right back where she started, with the blade pointed at Josiah.

"I _will_ kill you too," Zephaniah threatened, not bothering to wipe the blood from her face, "if you do not tell me why it's so important that I be the one to stop Dean – which, by the way, is _all_ I have been trying to do."

"No, Zephaniah, you've been trying to stop The Mark."

"What is the difference? Josiah, the Dean you are trying to stop is the Dean I know under the influence of The Mark of Cain."

Josiah's smirk didn't fade. "Well, it is that influence that keeps him coming back to you."

The angel blade was suddenly a lead weight in her hand. "What are you saying?"

Josiah clasped his hands behind his back and carefully passed over the dead vessel of his fallen brother as he approached Zephaniah. "Your soul, Zephaniah, is the key to every realm. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory – you can walk right in, at your leisure. The Mark on Dean's arm encases The Darkness. Do you not think that the very being of pure evil would like to have that access? Everyone in your life has been after your soul at some point. Why would Dean be any different?"

"You're lying again," Zephaniah said, pressing the point of the angel blade against his chest.

Josiah tilted his head. "Am I? I mean, it all makes sense, doesn't it? Crowley knew that if you had both The Mark _and_ your soul, you would be unstoppable." He pushed the blade away. "Zephaniah, you've had many heartbreaks in this life, I understand that. I hate to impose another on you, but Dean is just a pawn in all of this. It could have just as easily been Cain himself."

Zephaniah was hurt and angry. Her heart felt as though it was shattering into a million pieces. Every moment with Dean flashed through her mind, moments that now meant nothing.

"So what's it going to be?" Josiah pressed. "Are you going to help us or not?"

He was growing weary of her hesitation, that much was obvious. Zephaniah decided not to hesitate anymore; she knew exactly what she wanted to do in that moment.

Few things in her life had been as satisfying as the moment she plunged the angel blade into Josiah's chest. The remaining vessel fell to the ground, and Zephaniah threw the angel blade on top of him.

With three dead bodies in her hotel room halfway around the world from the only home she had ever known, Zephaniah felt more lost than ever. Suddenly overcome with anxiety, she found her phone and dialed Dean.

"It's me," she greeted when the line connected. "I'm in Jerusalem."

"Did you meet with your contact?" Dean asked.

Zephaniah couldn't breathe. "It was a lie, Dean. It was all a lie. There is no relic, no cure. You and I –"

She broke then, into gasping sobs. Dean did the best he could to comfort her, but there wasn't much he could do for her from the other end of a telephone line. The line went fuzzy and disconnected before Zephaniah could say anything else. Somewhere in her mind, Zephaniah knew she needed to find a way to tell him that she was okay, but hearing his voice had only made things worse.


	6. Vengeance

Dean stared at the phone in his hand. He had no idea what exactly was going on with Zephaniah, and that tore him apart.

"Castiel, where is she? Can you get her? Can you take me to her?" Dean asked.

"I wish I could," Castiel sighed. "But when Zephaniah disclosed some details of the trip she was taking, I warded her from angels finding her. I was worried for her safety."

"Worried for her safety?" Dean roared, smacking a hand against the wall. "She called me sobbing from Jerusalem, damn it! How do I get her back here?"

"Dean," Sam interjected, shoving his phone into his pocket. "We may have bigger problems. I just got a call from Charlie and it didn't – she's in trouble. We need to go, now."

Dean looked at Castiel; the angel nodded. "I'll find Zephaniah. You go to Charlie."

"I want to know the second you find her," Dean demanded, grabbing the keys to the Impala. The Mark on his arm was burning, and too many things were happening at once.

He was losing control.

The motel room wasn't unlike any the boys had stayed in before, with the exception of the blood smears just outside the bathroom door. Sam pushed the door open, and there was Charlie, in a tub of her own blood.

"Damn it!" Dean growled out. He went to the tub and pulled Charlie's lifeless body into his lap.

"We'll give her a hunter's burial," Sam said. "It's what she deserves."

"She deserved not to die on my account," Dean corrected. "You're right. We're going to give her a hunter's burial, and then I'm going to find the person who did this, and tear their entire family apart, limb by limb."

Sam said nothing, just helped Dean get Charlie and all of her belongings into the Impala. They drove to the first clearing they came to and pulled over.

"Any idea what she had that someone would have wanted her dead for?" Dean asked.

Sam looked at his brother. Dean looked and sounded so tired, so defeated. "The Book of the Damned. There was possibly a spell in there that would cure The Mark. I don't know who did this or who would have wanted to do it."

Dean nodded as he watched Charlie's body burn in front of him. "All right. You get a hold of Cas, see what you can do to help him find Zeph. I'll go back to the hotel and get the surveillance tapes."

"Dean –"

"Sam, that's an order."

Sam knew better than to argue with his brother when he took on that tone of voice. Whether he liked it or not, Dean had already decided how things were going to be handled, and there was no changing it. Begrudgingly, Sam walked with Dean back to the Impala, dialing Castiel as he went.

"These are the tapes from last night, the time frame you asked for," the hotel attendant offered. "For privacy, there's no tapes in the rooms, but the parking lot is heavily monitored. I'll be out front if you need … anything."

Dean ignored the woman's brazen implication and carefully studied the images on the screen in front of him. It took a few minutes, but finally, he saw a man park in front of Charlie's room and break down the door. Dean rubbed at the burning Mark on his arm when the man emerged a few minutes later with blood over the front of him. The car in the video pulled away from the hotel, and Dean was able to catch a tag number.

That put him in a whole new dilemma. If he called Sam, his brother would know where he was headed. Thinking back over the last couple of years, Dean put in a call to another friend who would be able to track the license plate on the car.

With Shreveport, Louisiana, as his new destination, Dean stopped at the gas station briefly to make sure that he had a full tank of gas and everything he would need for the trip. Before pulling out of the parking stall, he swallowed hard and dialed Zephaniah; it went straight to voicemail.

"Hey, it's me. Not the first time I've left you a voicemail like this, but seems wrong not to do it. Charlie's dead, and I'm going after the family that did her in. She didn't deserve this, and neither do you. Not because of me. I know what you said, that we're all in this together. Thing is, I brought this on all of us. After I take care of Charlie, I'm going to find you. Sam and Cas are looking now – do me a favor, make it easy on them, all right? If this all ends the way it could and I go back to the black eyes and all, you stay away from me, Zephaniah. Promise me that. I've wreaked enough havoc on your life. I've hurt enough people enough times. Anyway. That's what's going on. And Zeph, listen I, uh … anyway. You know. Bye."

Dean ended the call and swallowed back his emotions. There would be no room for feeling anything but anger and the desire for revenge if he was going to go after the Stynes.

"Tell me again why you warded her from angels?" Sam asked Castiel.

Castiel let out a breath. "I can't tell you. I promised Zephaniah I wouldn't share certain things before they came to light on their own."

"It could be her well-being, Cas. What is that going to do to Dean if something happens to her?"

"She's still guarded. I made sure of that." Castiel pulled out his phone to call her again. "Zephaniah, it's Castiel. You need to call us as soon as you can. Dean needs you. We need you back here."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Still going to voicemail, huh?"

"Straight to it. Maybe she's on a plane home."

"Could be. Let me see if I can find out," Sam offered, taking a seat at the table in the motel room and opening his laptop.

In Louisiana, Dean had already been pulled over, broke out of the police department, and found the Stynes' house. Although he had been able to get into the house with a lot of ease and little to no remorse, the Stynes had quickly strapped him to their table, intent on cutting him into pieces to use for spare parts.

"Don't do this," Dean warned.

"Son, we are past the bargaining stage," Monroe Styne warned.

"No," Dean replied. "The Mark on my arm means I can't die. I'm not bargaining. You flatline me, I will come back. But I'll come back with black eyes – then, you'll all die."

"And we let you go, you'll what? Just mosey on down the road?"

"No, but I will be human. So maybe a few of you live."

There was talk of cracking a piñata before Dean broke loose from the wrist straps on the table. The younger Styne was the first to go, the scalpel gliding easily over and through the skin of the man's throat. Then the nurse, who died by the very syringe she had come at Dean with.

Finally, the father of all of them, Monroe Styne, was in Dean's hold. The chokehold wasn't enough that Monroe couldn't speak, but certainly held enough force that Dean could feel the life draining away from the old man. When Monroe stopped speaking and his body went limp, Dean snapped the man's neck, just for good measure.

Sam jumped when his mobile rang. Zephaniah's number flashed across the display, so he answered as quickly as he could.

"Zeph! Are you okay? Where are you?"

He could hear the _whoosh_ of the breath she released. "I'm back in the States, I'm all right. I have a flight in a couple hours out of New York, on to Atlanta. My flight gets back late, but I'll be in Kansas before midnight."

"Good," Sam said. "Some things happened and –"

"Charlie, I know. Dean left me a message."

That was a relief. "Zephaniah, I'm worried about him. Did he say where he was going?"

"No, just that he was going after the family that killed Charlie, then he was coming after me."

"When we get a hold of him, I'll tell him you're coming home."

Another _whoosh_ of breath. "I don't know if I am, Sam. I just – the things I found out on this trip are overwhelming. Things about me and Dean. I'm not sure it's safe for either of us to be together anymore."

"I'll meet you at the airport, all right? Just give me your flight number. We'll talk."

Zephaniah didn't seem to be entirely in agreeance, but she gave him the flight numbers just the same. After cross-referencing it with the TSA system, Sam updated Castiel with the latest.

"She's flying into Kansas City, it's a few hours away. I'm going to leave now, I can be there and maybe even have a plan by the time I meet Zeph there. Can you wait here for Dean?"

"How do you know he'll come here?"

"I put a tracker on the Impala. He's headed this way now. Don't let him leave until I get back with Zephaniah. I don't care what you have to do, Castiel. Do _not_ let him leave this bunker."

During his wait for Zephaniah, Sam received a call confirming that Dean was losing his control. The existence of his brother was beginning to blur too much into that of The Mark.

Zephaniah came off the plane exhausted and a with a few scratches and bruises, but otherwise no worse for the wear.

"It's nothing that won't heal with time," she sighed as Sam inspected her face. "Let's stop at the bar on the way out, I could use a drink. And we have a lot to catch up on."

She had resolved during her flight from Atlanta to Kansas City that maybe it was time Sam new about the request from Heaven's army. She had little doubt that he would share the information with Dean, but it was time she came clean with someone other than Castiel.

"Heaven wants me to stop Dean from whatever path he's on. I don't know exactly what it is, but the last time I was taken to Heaven, before I left the first time, an angel named Josiah asked me to stop Dean in whatever way I could. Said they would rather see him as a demon than allow him to do whatever it is they are expecting him to do."

Sam frowned. "A demon – they would let you kill him?"

"Let me? Sam, they all but asked me. I told them I wouldn't betray Dean that way. They left it alone for the time being, and I started getting emails from a man who supposedly represented a company with access to a relic that would cure Dean of The Mark. I went there, and it was Josiah. He lied to get me away from Dean, isolated so that maybe I would take their mission or whatever."

"What did you say?"

Zephaniah shook her head. "Didn't say much. He told me that the only reason Dean and I are drawn to each other is because The Darkness trapped in The Mark wants my soul. So, I killed him."

Sam's brow nearly reached his hairline. "You killed an angel?"

"Three of them, actually. Castiel gave me an angel blade before I went to Israel." Zephaniah took a deep breath. "Sam, you can't tell Dean any of this. The bond he and I have – he'll never let it go, no matter what anyone says. I don't want to let it go, but if the choice is between getting rid of The Mark and having Dean, I choose to find a cure."

Sam nodded. "Castiel called me on the way here. I think Dean is losing control. Charlie was killed, and Dean went after the family that was responsible – it was a massacre, Zeph. When he got back to the bunker and Castiel tried to intervene on three men from that family that were in the bunker, Dean killed them and beat the hell out of Cas. I think we're running out of time."

"We have one option." She finished off her drink and stared at the glass, its contents now nothing more than melting ice. Condensation dripped down the sides of the glass, forming a ring on the table, while Zephaniah worked up putting into words aloud what that option could be. "I could say yes to The Mark. If The Darkness possessed me, there would be no reason for it to affect Dean."

"Absolutely not," Sam replied, almost before the words were entirely out of Zephaniah's mouth. "There has to be another way. We have the Book of the Damned, and the codex for it. Charlie managed to keep that from the Stynes. We are not giving up or sacrificing anyone – not you, not Dean. Not anyone."

He tossed a couple of bills on the table and pushed out of his chair, making a great enough distance in a few long strides that Zephaniah had to quickly shoulder her bag and jog after him to catch up.


	7. Truth

"Pull over."

Sam frowned as he glanced at Zephaniah, then set his eyes back on the road. "We're two minutes away from the bunker."

"Pull over, Sam."

The rental car came to a gradual stop on the side of the road, and Zephaniah got out so quick, Sam thought maybe she was going to be sick. Instead, she stood on the side of the road, hugging her arms over her chest.

"I need answers. I killed Josiah before I knew if he was even telling the truth or the entire truth or whatever, and now I'm left with all of these questions about Dean and the purpose for me being in his life. I _need_ answers."

Sam nodded. "So you're going to Heaven."

"I have to," Zephaniah answered. "I can't help Dean. I've tried and I've failed. Seems like I keep failing him. And now, to think that the only reason I'm even in his life is because that damnation on his arm wants me soul – I need to know the truth in that. I need to know the truth about The Darkness, about curing The Mark."

"Well," Sam said, taking a deep breath, "don't be gone too long, Zeph. No matter the reason, Dean needs you."

Zephaniah nodded and turned to walk down the road. She was only a few feet from the car when Sam called to her.

"For whatever it's worth," Sam said, taking a deep breath, "I think you need him, too."

Zephaniah gave him a single nod and turned away again. Moments later, there was a flash of light, and she was gone.

Heaven was a place Zephaniah had not spent a lot of time visiting. She had unfortunately spent more time in Hell, especially recently, and a vague amount of time in Purgatory. Heaven was a place she had avoided; it was too great a disappointment to know that the angels were just as capable of torture as the demons.

When she arrived there this time, she realized she had no idea where she was going. Zephaniah wandered the long, brightly lit corridors until someone finally found her. She felt a tight grip on her arm and someone speaking close to her ear.

"Not here."

Zephaniah felt herself being pulled out of the realm, falling back to Earth. In seconds, she was in the spot in the road where she had left Sam. The younger Winchester called out to her, but Zephaniah held up a hand to him.

"Your back is to him, but I'm warning you right now, if you hurt me, he'll be here faster than you know. We can take out your kind," Zephaniah said through gritted teeth.

"My name is Hannah," the angel told her. "Castiel told me you would be coming."

Zephaniah nodded, skeptical of any angel that might come her way. "I didn't go to Heaven for trouble. I just need answers."

"I know," Hannah said, holding up both of her hands. "I have no intention to hurt you – I want to help you, Zephaniah."

Zephaniah nodded and decided to trust Hannah, at least for the moment. She explained that she was aware of The Darkness, that she knew that ridding Dean of The Mark could possibly unleash The Darkness, and told Hannah about Josiah's previous offer.

Hannah frowned. "Josiah. One of the more rebellious of us. He hasn't been seen or heard from in weeks. We believe he warded himself from his own kind in order to hide what he was doing."

"I recently met with him in Israel," Zephaniah admitted. "I was under the impression that I was meeting a man who had a spell and a relic that would cure Dean. Hannah, Josiah told me that Dean and I are only pulled together _because_ of The Mark – that The Darkness wants me soul. I need to know if that's true."

"I honestly don't know," Hannah sighed. "It's what we've been told, but only recently. Well, recently here, as in the last hundred years or so. After all that you have done for him though, the things you have suffered, I cannot believe that there isn't more to this plan."

Zephaniah swallowed back tears. "And there is no cure, is there?"

"There is no cure which will not release The Darkness." Hannah paused for a moment. "The Darkness is God's sister. It pained him greatly to lock her away, but it was for the good of humanity. She had begun to corrupt all of the innocent things our Father loved, and he could not tolerate the idea of his beautiful creation – angels, humans, Earth, the entire universe – being under The Darkness's evil influence."

"And if The Darkness is released again?"

Hannah shook her head. "I shudder to think of what may come of all of us – humans, angels, and demons alike."

Zephaniah nodded and thanked Hannah. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Hannah that they could stop looking for Josiah, but to tell the angel that while she was within Heaven's reach seemed like a horrible idea.

"Thank you for speaking with me, Hannah."

"Of course. Godspeed, Zephaniah."

With a flutter of wings that Zephaniah had become accustomed to hearing thanks to Castiel, Hannah was gone. Forcing back tears, Zephaniah turned and walked back to the car. She and Sam got in at the same time; Zephaniah stared straight ahead.

"Did you get the answers you wanted?"

Zephaniah shook her head. "I think I've gone crazy, Sam. I just keep thinking how much easier things were when I was running from angels and demons all the time."

As much as he wanted to say something to give him some sense of hope or optimism, Sam found himself coming up short on comforting words.

Dean sat in a chair in the bunker, wringing his hands. He knew that avenging Charlie's murder was something he had to do, but some of the details of it, the fuzzy ones when he wasn't sure if it was him or The Mark in control, had him hating himself. Even Charlie would be disgusted with him, he was sure.

Not to mention the fact that he had beat the shit out of Castiel. His best friend was healed now, no bruises, but the foul was there. Dean hadn't cared who he had to knock out of his way to work out the anger, the hatred, that he was feeling anymore. Castiel had been caught in the crossfire between The Mark of Cain and himself. The only thing Dean was thankful for, was that it wasn't Zephaniah.

There was a knock on the wall before a familiar voice greeted him with a small, "Hey."

Dean was out of the chair and facing her in less than a second. His eyes went wide and relief coursed through his muscles. "You're all right. God, Zeph, I thought that –"

As tears filled his eyes, Zephaniah crossed the room and threw her arms around his neck. Deciding then and there that she wasn't going put stock into Josiah's words until she had clear and absolute reason to do so. After all, Sam was right; she needed Dean just as much as he needed her, and the reasons were irrelevant.

Dean's arms went around her waist, holding her tight. His lips pressed against her neck, and he closed his eyes as he inhaled her scent. Zephaniah buried her face against him.

"What happened in Israel? After that phone call, I didn't think I was going to get you back."

Zephaniah pulled back and looked at him. Her eyes searched his; those beautiful green eyes that had always managed to warm her heart held too much cold for her to reveal new truths to him.

"Nothing. The lead was a dead end. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Dean assured. "I'm the one who should be sorry. Things happened while you were gone, Zeph, and I – I don't know if I can even tell you."

Zephaniah cleared her throat. "Sam already told me. He wanted me to be prepared for what state you might be in when I got back."

Dean stepped away from her. "It's all so messed up, Zeph. Charlie's gone, I killed an innocent kid. And Castiel …"

"Dean," Zephaniah said, once again closing the gap between them. She took his face in her hands, forcing Dean to meet her eyes. "Listen to me. You are not the things you have done. Yes, there was a kernel of you in those actions, but it was The Mark that exacerbated things."

Dean closed his eyes. "I don't know how you can keep saying these things to me after the things I've done to you."

She went up on tiptoe to kiss him. "Because I know the man you are, Dean Winchester. I knew it the moment you carried me out of that warehouse all those years ago. No one will ever convince me that you are anything but a good man."

Dean pulled her closer to hold her again; Zephaniah returned his embrace. While she found a sense of comfort in having Dean close, of sharing that honesty with him, there was also a trace of doubt tainting her peace.

Perhaps she would never know if it was truly her or her soul that sated Dean's angry unrest.

A few days later, Zephaniah couldn't sleep. She wandered out to the war room with a cup of coffee she had zero intention of drinking. Castiel was there, a stack of books she assumed he had no intention of actually reading on the table in front of him.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, setting her coffee mug on the table.

Castiel considered her for a moment. "I don't sleep. With Dean falling deeper and deeper under The Mark's influence, however, I feel I should stay close. In case – in case anything happens."

"In case he tries to kill me in his sleep again," Zephaniah supplied. "I don't think you need to worry about that, Castiel. The Mark knows what'll happen if Dean hurts me again, however unintentional it may be."

"You spoke with Josiah."

Zephaniah nodded. "I did. In Israel, it wasn't any kind of relic keeper. It was Josiah. He and two other angels kidnapped me in the street, took my back to my room and tried again to convince me to turn against Dean."

"And you said no," Castiel sighed.

"I killed them," Zephaniah admitted. She realized it was the first time she had confessed that to anyone. "I thought Heaven would find out before the words actually left my mouth. I'm sorry, Castiel."

He turned his chair to face her. "You should not be apologetic, Zephaniah. Josiah and his henchmen had gone rogue. Heaven still wants you, but the other angels were not willing to go to the lengths that Josiah wanted them to go. Had you not killed them, it was likely they would have killed you."

Zephaniah couldn't believe that Castiel was being so cavalier about the fact that she had killed two of his brethren. He was being cavalier about the whole situation. Whatever the reason, it angered her belong belief. She pushed out of the chair and tried taking some deep breaths, but it wasn't working. She kicked over the chair but that wasn't enough, either. She shoved the stack of books off the table, knocked over a lamp, and finally swiped the coffee off of the table. The mug's contents spilled over before the mug crashed to the ground, breaking into several pieces.

The commotion brought Castiel to his feet, and Sam and Dean running into the room. Sam asked if everything was okay, and Dean kept changing his gaze from Zephaniah to Castiel, and back again.

"Everything's fine," Zephaniah said quietly. "I just knocked over, you know, everything. Everything is fine."

Dean walked over to kiss her forehead. "Come back to bed. We'll clean this up in the morning."

Zephaniah nodded. "I'll be right there."

The two brothers left the room, leaving Zephaniah and Castiel alone again. Once she knew they were out of earshot, she turned back to Castiel.

"When I said that Dean wouldn't hurt me because The Mark knows I'll leave," she started, "you didn't argue. You just asked me if I had talked to Josiah."

Castiel nodded.

"So it's true. The connection between Dean and I, it's not real. It's The Mark and my soul."

"When he was a demon, I thought that it was more, Zephaniah. If I had known that it was The Mark, I never would have –"

Zephaniah shook her head. "Is it just The Mark? I mean, Cas, is this a one-way street, or does my soul just want The Darkness?"

Castiel looked as though he didn't want to answer, but he knew that Zephaniah would not stop until he told her what he knew to be the truth. "You soul does not want to be possessed."

It wasn't a direct answer, but it was more than Zephaniah needed.


	8. Time

Zephaniah leaned back against the hard cabinets in the kitchen. The floor underneath her was cold, but what did it matter? Once the whiskey she was drinking kicked in, she wouldn't know the difference.

If someone were to tell her that the world was caving in, Zephaniah would have believed it just then. Everything in the last twenty-four hours had topped off an already overwhelming state of being, and she was beginning to break.

As she finished off the fifth she had stolen from Dean's nightstand, she tossed the empty bottle into the trash and climbed up on the counter to get into the top shelf where she knew he kept a good-sized bottle of Jameson. It was there, unopened. The moment Zephaniah was back on the floor, however, that changed.

Her buzz began to set in, and Zephaniah thought back to her mother. Zephaniah rarely wondered about that woman anymore, hadn't for years, but it seemed in a time like this, thinking about the woman who gave her life was appropriate.

From her adoption papers, Zephaniah knew a few things. She had been born to a twenty-two-year-old young woman, and nothing was amiss until Zephaniah was three. She may have been young at the time, but she remembered looking up at her mother's face married by demonically black eyes as Zephaniah struggled to hold her breath under the bathtub water until someone – Zephaniah had no idea who – came in and pulled her mother away from the tub. It was the last time Zephaniah remembered seeing her mother.

Her mind fast-forwarded to the day before when Sam had come back to the bunker with a petite redhead in tow. The woman was carrying a book Zephaniah had never seen before. She frowned, following the two of them into the library. The woman took a seat, and Sam immediately pulled up his email.

"Who is this?" Zephaniah, ever suspicious of strangers, asked.

Sam looked up. "Oh, Zephaniah Jordan, this is Rowena. She's a witch."

"Dean'll love that," Zephaniah snorted.

"Don't worry, love," Rowena replied in her heavy Scottish accent. "Dean's already aware of my presence and my magic, but we make do."

Zephaniah wasn't sure that she liked Rowena's implication, but Sam's hand on her arm calmed her enough for her to walk away. She went in search of Dean; he was sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing over The Mark with his thumb.

"If you keep scratching it, it won't stop itching."

She had meant it as a joke, but the comment fell flat. Dean looked at her as she sat next to him, and immediately, he stopped rubbing over The Mark. Zephaniah's heart broke a little more; surely, he had only been able to stop because her soul was near, and The Mark knew she was within reach.

"Sam brought a witch home."

"Rowena, I know," Dean sighed. "She has a codex to read that book. The Book of the Damned. Supposedly there's a spell in there to get this thing off my arm."

"And then what?"

Dean looked straight ahead. "I don't know, Zeph. We'll have to burn that bridge when we get to it."

She nodded. Her heart longed for her to reach out and touch him, to climb into his lap and fade away into the safety of his arms. Zephaniah knew now that the pull of The Mark was a one-way street, so she ignored her heart, and said and did nothing.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean spoke, breaking the silence.

Zephaniah nodded.

"Are you still afraid of me?"

Zephaniah closed her eyes. Whatever question she was expecting, that wasn't it. When she was able to come up with an answer, she reached over and laced her fingers with his, giving in to her heart only a little.

"There are a lot of things I'm afraid of, Dean, but you're not one of them."

Besides the occasional, irritating sound of Rowena's voice flitting through the bunker, the majority of the rest of the day was quiet. What with the witch looking for the spell that would give Dean his freedom, Zephaniah mostly lost in thought and trying not to give in to the tug on her heart to just stay by Dean's side.

"Can I talk to you?" Castiel asked in a hushed tone while she put away supper leftovers. Zephaniah wasn't always one to cook, but it had given her a temporary distraction.

Zephaniah sighed and nodded. "Of course. What else is crashing down now?"

"I've been asked to bring you back up to Heaven to speak with Hannah."

"Absolutely not," Zephaniah snorted. "Castiel, that sounds like a trap if I've ever heard one. They'll take both of us. What clever little angel asked you to do that?"

"His name is Nathaniel. He has long been on a mission of peace, but he maintains peace by less than peaceful means. Far less."

Zephaniah thought for a moment. "And they can't track me because I'm warded, but they can track you. Perfect."

She threw the containers into the fridge and slammed the refrigerator door shut. She left Castiel in the wake of her frustration and anger; tears welled up in her eyes. Despite everything that was happening, Zephaniah could only think of one place she wanted to be and one person she wanted to be with.

"Can we get out of here?" she asked Dean. "I know – I know the timing is awful, but I need to be away from all of this. With you."

Dean frowned for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, of course. Hey – you all right?"

Zephaniah licked her lips. "Can we just go? Please?"

Dean nodded again. Neither of them bothered to pack a bag, just told Sam they would be back the next day, and headed out in the Impala.

Once in the hotel room, Zephaniah took a seat on the bed. Dean stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"What now?" he shrugged.

Zephaniah tried once again to control her tears. "Do you remember a few months back, when I was gone? And when I came back, you were so mad, because you thought I had left again?"

"Yeah, but you were in Heaven."

"I was. An angel named Josiah was holding me there because of you." Dean took a deep breath, prepared to rant, but Zephaniah stood and held up a hand to stop him. "Just let me tell you all of this, okay? Then you can yell and punch things and whatever else you're inclined to do."

Dean threw up his hands and took a seat. "Fine. I'm listening."

"All right. They said that whatever you and Sam were going to allow to happen next had to be stopped. Josiah wanted me to stop you by any means possible – even if I had to kill you. They said that it would better to have you as a demon again, than for whatever is going to happen to – I don't know, happen. Anyway, I told them I wasn't going to betray you. The trip to Israel was a ruse by Josiah and two other angels to get me to say yes to Heaven. I killed all three of them."

"You killed them?" Dean asked, raising his brow.

"Yes. Castiel knew what was happening – no, don't be upset with him. I asked him not to say anything because I didn't know how you would react. Anyway, I killed Josiah and two other angels. Now, there's another angel, Nathaniel, and he isn't happy about any of this. I don't know what he's going to do, but Castiel assures me it isn't going to be pretty."

"So what, we're running away?"

Zephaniah finally stopped fighting the tears. "I don't know, I just feel like – I feel like we're running out of time! Dean, whatever comes next, I feel like it's going to tear us apart. I have _never_ needed someone the way that I need you. When Josiah told me that I was the only one close enough to you to keep you from doing whatever you're going to do, I tried to distance myself from you, I tried to find an answer so that we could keep being together or whatever we're trying to do."

Dean took her hand and pulled her against his chest. "Zephaniah, nothing is going to tear us apart. You're not the only one who has never needed someone like this. When you're not with me, it's like I can't breathe. Then you come back around and I'm calm again. I need you, and I'm not going to let anything tear us apart. I know that everything coming down right now is crazy –"

"There's more," Zephaniah interrupted, pulling away from him. "Josiah, Hannah, Castiel – they've all told me that the reason you're pulled to me is because of The Mark. That thing on your arm encases The Darkness. It's everything that is evil in this world, and God locked it away to keep humanity safe. The Mark of Cain is lock and key and if we remove it from your arm, it will unleash The Darkness."

Dean shook his head. "Fine, so I just live with it. Cain did it for thousands of years."

"Dean," Zephaniah said, choking on his name. "The Mark is the reason you want me. The Mark wants my soul – or The Darkness inside The Mark, whatever. That's why when I'm near, you feel like you can breathe and you're calm."

"That's not true!"

Zephaniah's shoulders slumped. "If it was just Josiah and Hannah, I wouldn't believe it, either. But Castiel? He wouldn't even tell me flat out that it was true because he knows how much it would hurt the both of us. But it _is_ true."

"But even when I was a demon –"

"You still had The Mark then."

The room was eerily silent for several moments. Zephaniah had told him everything now, and Dean was trying to process this new information. Finally, he approached her again and placed his hands on her hips, slowly moving them around to the small of her back.

"I'm not going to believe it until I have concrete proof," Dean said, kissing her lightly. "I'm supposed to be with you, Zephaniah, Mark of Cain or not."

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks and nodded. "Okay. If that's what you believe than, at least for now, that's what I'll believe, too."

They spent the night in each other's arms. It was the first time in a long time, and Zephaniah knew they needed it. The moment they returned to the bunker, however, and were right back to hearing Rowena's irritating voice and Sam's concerned, puppy dog face, Zephaniah was at a loss again.

She had already been heading for the kitchen and the whiskey when Castiel appeared before her in the hallway.

"Not now, Cas," she sighed, sidestepping him.

He took her by the arm. "There is no other time, Zephaniah. You're running out of time."

Zephaniah snorted. Hadn't she just told Dean that same thing the day before?

"Nathaniel will not take no for an answer," Castiel told her firmly. "You either go to him in Heaven, agree to stop Dean, or the angels will officially wage war on you, the Winchesters, and anyone who chooses to fight alongside them."

Zephaniah nodded. "Fine. Here's my answer to that: Heaven can fuck off."

With that, she pushed past Castiel, into the kitchen. She found the whiskey and sank to the floor, intent on drinking her worries away. The memories of her life flashed over her, from her possessed mother attempting to drown her in the bathtub, to the various foster parents who had also been possessed and tried to take her soul or her life. She even thought about the first time she had met Dean, when he and John rescued her from that warehouse.

The whiskey was _not_ working. She tossed the empty bottle into the sink and decided it was time to stop pity-partying and take action. If Heaven was against her, then to Hell with it all.


	9. Prepare

In the months since she had last been in Hell, Zephaniah had recalled the experience with little more than fear and anxiety. When she walked into Crowley's dwelling this time, however, she did so with a cold look in her eye and all the confidence in the world.

Two demons stopped her outside of Crowley's throne room. She held tight to the demon knife in her hand, prepared to defend herself but assuring them she was not here to attack anyone.

"Then why are you here?" one of the demons pushed.

"I have a proposal for your king."

"Let her in," a voice bellowed from the other side of the door.

Zephaniah nodded to both demons before letting herself through the doors. She approached Crowley where he was slumped to one side on his throne, looking far less than amused.

"Have you finally come to get your revenge, Zephaniah?" Crowley asked, his tone conveying his boredom.

"Not today. Sorry to disappoint," Zephaniah smirked. "I seem to have reached a certain level of desperation, and I – God help me – need your help."

Crowley perked up. "You need my help? Well, you have my undivided attention now, dear girl."

"Months ago, Heaven asked me to prevent Dean from releasing The Darkness. I didn't know that's what it was at the time and – anyway. I have denied them several times over, and I've killed three angels in the process of figuring out another way to prevent The Darkness from being released. Nathaniel is leading the cause now, and, despite warnings from Castiel, I've chosen to maintain my stand against them."

"Honestly, Zephaniah," Crowley said, standing from his chair. "I can't say I'm not impressed. I'm still curious, what could you need me for?"

Zephaniah took a deep breath. "Nathaniel is going to wage war against me, and anyone who stands with me. Castiel and the Winchesters will stand with me, but that may not be enough. When I thought of anyone who may have something against Heaven that would be enough to fight in this war with me, you were the first that came to mind."

Crowley tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Why does this feel like a trick?"

"It's not a trick, Fergus," someone spoke up from behind Zephaniah. "The girl is truly here for your help."

"Mother," Crowley sneered. "I'd hate to think that you planted this seed in her head."

"The idea was all her own," Rowena assured, standing next to Zephaniah.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Oh God, the two of you in cahoots with each other? I truly am being punished."

"Your mommy said you could come out and play, Fergus," Zephaniah smirked.

"Do _not_ ," Crowley hissed. "You two women will be the death of me."

"If we're lucky," Zephaniah mumbled under her breath; she immediately held up her hands in defense and apologized. "That was uncalled for. Crowley, I'm being serious about this, I really am. I brought Rowena because, while she was not the first person I thought of to have join us, she was the next. She has already agreed to join us, and I brought her with me as a show of good faith. I _want_ us to win this war, but we cannot do it alone. And, come on – you cannot tell me that you would pass up a chance to kill some of those feathered dickheads."

Crowley took a deep breath and considered her carefully. "What's in it for me?"

Zephaniah glanced at Rowena, who stepped forward. "If we win this, Zephaniah has agreed to give up her soul. In order for that to happen, however, you must agree, Fergus, to allow me to be your second in command."

"Win, win, win," Crowley replied in a sing-song voice. "I suppose I can accept both of those conditions. Count me in."

With newfound confidence since Crowley was on board, and Rowena was on their side, Zephaniah decided it was time to re-train a little bit, for all of them. Castiel spent the next twenty-four hours leading them all through a crash course in fighting angels. When the training came to an end, they were all exhausted. Sleep was more of a priority than eating, as was showering. Before they retired to bed, Dean and Zephaniah took the time to down a glass of whiskey each. They were sitting at the table in the war room, and Dean was working up to ask Zephaniah the question he already knew he didn't want the answer to.

"How'd you get Crowley in on this? And Rowena?"

Zephaniah polished off her drink. "I did what I've always done, Dean. I did whatever I had to do to keep us on the winning side."

"What did you do, Zephaniah?" This time, there was no mistaking the adamancy in his tone.

"To get Crowley and Rowena, I had to get both of them," Zephaniah said. "Crowley would only agree if I would give up my soul, and Rowena gets to be Crowley's second-in-command. All of that is contingent upon our winning this war."

"Yeah," Dean scoffed, "because we'll all be dead if we don't win it."

Zephaniah pushed her whiskey tumbler around in the ring of condensation on the, wooden table. "We may all die anyway. But the more people we have on our side, maybe we stand a little bit more of a chance."

Instead of the angry reaction Zephaniah had expected from Dean, she saw tears gather in his eyes.

"You're giving up your soul for me," he said on a shaky breath, as though it wasn't real until he said it out loud. "That's the absolute last thing I ever wanted for you."

"I know. Even when you were a demon, you tried to stop anyone from convincing me to give up my soul. It's my turn to protect you now, Dean. I'm not sorry and I don't regret any of the choices that I have made."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut then, allowing the tears to overflow and make way down his face. Zephaniah left her seat sit his lap and hug the man who held her heart as close as she would allow. His tears, as much as they broke her heart, also gave her the slightest bit of hope that there was true love in Dean's being for her, not only a connection created by The Mark.

Several days went by with nothing much more to do than wait. The Winchesters, Zephaniah, Castiel, Crowley, and Rowena – their small army – filled the time as best they could.

Crowley returned to Hell to mind his minions while waiting for the war to break out. Rowena studied the Book of the Damned, giggling every now and then at the pretty little spells she was finding.

Castiel spent his time between Earth and Heaven, making last ditch efforts to avoid violence between the two worlds. Nathaniel was having none of it, it seemed, no matter how many offers Castiel attempted to negotiate on Zephaniah's behalf.

Not that Zephaniah was offering _anything_. She told Castiel to go ahead and do what he thought he could do; she trusted his judgement. In the meantime, Zephaniah, Dean, and Sam continued to train and do as much research as they could. There were several possible outcomes for this fight, and they all knew there was no way to be entirely prepared for all of them – or any of them, really.

She had just finished reloading her favorite handgun when Dean found her in the shooting range. He admired the way she handled a gun that was just slightly too big for her hands, compensating by adjusting her grip and minding the angles of her shot.

"If you'd relax your shoulders a little bit, your shot would be perfect," Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Zephaniah considered him momentarily before making the small adjustment. She emptied the magazine into a grouping of shots with expert precision.

"Thanks," she said, setting the gun on the bench in front of her.

Dean leaned against the bench, arms still crossed over his chest. He stared at the ground, trying to figure out how to put his thoughts into words. There were things he wanted Zephaniah to know; things he didn't want either of them dying without having been said and known.

"When I was a demon and I showed up in that hotel room the first time, Zeph, I think I knew right away that I was going to be addicted to you – and it wasn't The Mark. It was something more." He opened his mouth to continue, but Zephaniah cut him off.

"We aren't soulmates, Dean. I told you that. We've both read the lore on it, and this is not that at all."

Dean nodded. "I know that, but I also know it's more than The Mark. You saved me from all the worst parts of myself. Even when I tortured you, when I tried to push you away – you've stayed close. Even now, when you don't believe that this is anything more than the root of all evil pulling towards your soul, you've stayed. Maybe I'm wrong – sure wouldn't be the first time. Either way, no one has stood by me like you have. That's reason enough for me to love you."

Zephaniah couldn't help her breath catching in her throat. Maybe they weren't the kind of people who labeled their relationship or put emotions into words, but this, what Dean had said, meant the world to her.

"I'll let you finish up here," Dean said, interrupting her silent thoughts. He kissed her temple, then left the gun range.

With all manner of emotions bubbling up in her chest, Zephaniah loaded the gun's magazine again and emptied it out again. When all those tiny explosions were not enough, she leaned on the bench in front of her, and cried.

The knife in Zephaniah's hand was weighty but she was already in love with the weapon. Castiel had stopped her in the hall as she swiped quickly at her tear-stained face. He had made the knife himself; he was vague about its creation, telling Zephaniah only that it held elements of the demon blade, an angel blade, and even the Spear of Destiny. Though he didn't say how, Castiel assured her that the blade had been tested on both species, as well as some others. Besides The Colt, Zephaniah now possessed the most lethal weapon in existence.

" _Dies Irae_ ," Castiel said, reading the script on the blade of the knife. "The name of the weapon."

"Day of wrath," Zephaniah translated out loud. "I've heard that phrase before. I researched the prophet Zephaniah once, when I realized where my name came from. Much of the book Zephaniah wrote is a warning of the return and wrath of the Lord."

Castiel nodded. "That's right. It seemed fitting."

Zephaniah nodded. "Thank you, Castiel."

Castiel gave her a single nod before Zephaniah headed to find Dean to show him the gift from Castiel. His room, however, was empty. Zephaniah frowned; his belongings were still there but Dean was nowhere to be found.

Her eyes landed on white envelope on the pillow she used when she slept in Dean's room. Setting the _Dies Irae_ on the nightstand, Zephaniah picked up the envelope with trembling hands. It had her name on it; she tore into the envelope quickly.

A picture of the two of them, one she remembered Sam getting a lot of shit for taking. She had no idea that Dean had a copy of the picture, until now.

It was one of the few nights between Dean being cured of the demon disease and Heaven's interference in their lives that they had all been able to just relax. Dean was sitting against the arm of the couch, and Zephaniah had her legs extended over his lap. They were looking at each other and laughing at something funny one of them had said.

Zephaniah flipped the picture over. When she read the message in Dean's scrawl on the back, her heart fell to the floor.

 _Don't come find me, Zeph. My turn to stand by you, no matter what._

 _._


	10. Choice

In the hours since he had left the bunker, Dean had considered returning a handful of times. He knew that if he did return, it would be Zephaniah's undoing. He could not let himself be the death of her, so, despite the urge to stay close to her, Dean left the picture on her pillow and left with the Impala.

His plan was sketchy at best. The way Dean figured it, he was the only being with The Mark on Earth anymore. No one could kill him; he would come back as a demon again. As freeing as that experience had been, it had carried a lot of awful things with it as well. His only option was to go to some place where no one could find him, and where he could no longer harm anyone, be it directly or indirectly. He was going to need some help with that.

Dean drove to a bar several hours outside of Lebanon. He set up the spell to summon Death on the trunk of the Impala, then went inside to wait.

Zephaniah brought the picture to Sam as soon as she could move herself from the spot in Dean's room where she had been frozen for several minutes as she tried to process that Dean had left them in the time they needed him the most.

"Where could he possibly have gone?" Zephaniah demanded. "We are about to be in the middle of a war with Heaven, and he bails!"

Sam set the picture on the table and crossed his arms over his chest. "When are you going to realize that everything Dean does – okay, most things Dean does, is because he thinks it's what's best for you? He has done the same for me since he was four years old, Zeph. Dean take a burden on himself and he won't unshoulder it until he's the one who has taken care of it. My guess is, he's off trying to do exactly what you did when you lied and told him you weren't safe for him, or went off to Israel."

Zephaniah's shoulders slumped. "Why now, Sam? Why now, when we need him more than ever to just be with us?"

Sam shrugged. "I honestly don't know. All I know is that we have to be ready for this, with or without him, so when he does come back – and I know he will, he always does – we're still standing."

Zephaniah nodded. She picked up the picture and turned away from Sam, intent on taking the picture back to Dean's room. Before she could get more than a few steps away, the walls of the bunker began to shake. The floor beneath her feet was still, so Zephaniah knew it wasn't an earthquake. She shoved the picture in her pocket and, turning a deaf ear to Sam's yells for her to come back, ran to Dean's room for the _Dies Irae._

She was going to need it.

The bartender refilled Dean's drink and asked if he was sure the person he was waiting on was going to show.

"Don't know why he wouldn't," Dean shrugged. "He always does."

"Not this time."

Dean turned towards the voice sitting next to him; it was familiar but he couldn't place it until he laid eyes on the vessel sitting next to him.

"Gabriel?"

With a snap of Gabriel's fingers, everyone else in the bar disappeared. "Long time no see, Dean. How's tricks?"

"I might ask you the same damn thing," Dean retorted. "And as much as I'm absolutely ecstatic about this little reunion, I'm waiting on someone. So you'll have to forgive me if I take a raincheck."

Gabriel tossed an empty peanut shell over the counter. "Right, Death. Not coming."

"Excuse me?"

"Death is not coming to meet you today," Gabriel said.

Dean raised his brow. "Any particular reason why?"

Gabriel turned on his barstool to face Dean. "Because today is not your day to die. It's not your day to run away, either. I know what's going on with Zephaniah and Nathaniel and the war that's coming. Do you really think that extracting yourself from the equation will stop it?"

"I do, actually. Isn't that what this war is about? Zephaniah refusing to help them stop me?"

Gabriel snorted. "If only it were that simple. Zephaniah killed three angels. She goes against the natural order of things at nearly every turn. I'm not saying I don't agree with her for the most part, don't get me wrong."

"Then what are you saying?" Dean pressed.

Gabriel looked him directly in the eye. "I'm saying that this war isn't just about you anymore. Nathaniel is a peacekeeper, and Zephaniah does not keep the peace. He wants to stop her. The only way to do that, is to take her down."

"But if she's killed, everyone around her dies, too."

"That's a risk Nathaniel is willing to take, for the greater good." Gabriel rolled his eyes. "My brothers have good intentions, but they're idiots in the way they go about things. Dad's not around to keep them in control, so they take matters into their own hands."

Dean finished off his drink. "You're saying I should go back."

Gabriel tilted his head. "I'm strongly encouraging it. We've got to account for free will here."

Dean shook his head and let out a small chuckle. "So why you, Gabe? Why the trickster?"

"I wasn't always a trickster," Gabriel reminded. "I was once the Messenger of the Lord. This is important enough, Dean, I've been called to that again."

"And what's the message? Don't give up?"

"Yeah, don't give up," Gabriel said, "because if you give up, Zephaniah is done for. She's right when she tells you that the two of you aren't soulmates – you're something more than that. When God saw that the chain of human events would eventually lead to this, you were already in the plan. He knew that you would need someone to fight next to you, and that it needed to be someone more than Sam. It was then that he created Zephaniah."

Dean's brow fell into a quizzical expression. "She was made for me?"

"She was made for you. The pull between the two of you is not only The Mark. Yes, The Darkness wants Zephaniah's soul, but the connection between the two of you was made the day you rescued her from that warehouse. You can walk away from Sam – you can, and you have. You've left him on his own, thinking it was what was better for him. Zephaniah on the other hand – you will always go back to her."

Dean thought on all of that for a few moments before sliding off the barstool. "Thanks, Gabriel. Let's just hope she believes me when she hears all of this."

Gabriel gave him a single nod, calling Dean back before he reached the door. "I would hurry if I were you."

The archangel didn't have to go into detail for Dean to read the meaning in the statement. Dean hurried out to the Impala, fishtailing out of the parking lot and speeding down the highway towards the bunker.

Castiel, Rowena, and Crowley had joined Sam by the time Zephaniah returned with her knife. They stood in a close circle, watching as the warding on the bunkers walls glowed before plaster and brick began to fall, breaking the sigils. Their glow faded out, and the door of the bunker fell with a loud _thud._

A group of ten angels entered the bunker, and Zephaniah assumed that the one leading the group was Nathaniel. Her countenance portrayed strength and courage, but her heartbeat and rapid breath betrayed her.

"You can still give this up, Zephaniah. Your chance has not entirely passed. Heaven is still willing to take on your acceptance of the mission to stop The Darkness from being released," Nathaniel told her.

Zephaniah shook her head. "When I told Josiah I would not betray Dean the first time I was dragged to Heaven about this matter, I meant it. That answer was not a rash decision, an initial reply while I thought things over. My answer is the same."

"In that case," Nathaniel began, his angel blade slipping into his hand, "you put the fate of your life into our hands."

"So be it."

There was a moment of calm before Nathaniel struck out at her, as there always was before a fight like this began. The angels accompanying Nathaniel spread out to take on her cohorts, leaving their leader to deal with the true problem.

She was able to dodge most of Nathaniel's strikes. The ones he was able to land were painful but not fatal. Zephaniah couldn't get close enough to him to use the _Dies Irae_ , and her frustration with that fact was quickly turning to anger. True to form, her anger spurred her on and she was able to land one solid gash to Nathaniel's arm.

"Not bad," the angel chuckled, "for a human."

He lunged at her again, and Zephaniah narrowly evaded the attack. Her instinct told her she needed help, but a quick glance around the room told her that the rest of those on her side were dealing with saving their own lives at the moment.

Zephaniah had to do something. Changing her grip on the knife, she ran at Nathaniel, tackling him to the ground. It was clear that the wound from the _Dies Irae_ was draining his power, little by little, and Zephaniah could see that they were becoming more and more evenly matched as the blood continued to drip from Nathaniel's arm.

She had the blade in her hand poised over the angel's heart when her attention was momentarily stolen by the man coming down the stairs, running towards her and calling her name.

"Dean," Zephaniah breathed, unable to control the smile tugging at her lips.

Her distraction would be her downfall. Nathaniel took advantage of her divided attentions and shoved his angel blade into her side. Her eyes went wide as she fell away, gripping the site of the new wound, and the world around them began to quake like never before.

Seeing that the majority of the other angels had been overtaken, Nathaniel ordered those remaining to retreat with him. Zephaniah was nearly dead anyway; their job here was done.

The pain began to fade and fingers of cold crept over Zephaniah's entire body. She gurgled and coughed as blood welled up from her belly and dribbled out of her mouth.

"Zeph, look at me," Dean said, rushing to her side and pulled her into a sitting position. "Hey, look at me. You're going to be all right."

"It's over now," Zephaniah said between struggling breaths. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

More bricks and plaster fell from the ceiling. Lamps crashed from tables and books tumbled off of shelves. No one could stand anymore, as the ground beneath them tossed and turned.

"I'm the one who couldn't save you," Dean said. "I'm so sorry. This is on me. It's all on me."

"You can't stay here. You have to go," Zephaniah ordered him. She was beginning to gasp for breaths between words, and the rafters from the ceiling were cracking apart, preparing to come down on them any second.

"I won't leave you," Dean promised, kissing her forehead and pushing the hair out of her face.

Zephaniah glanced at his arm and saw it – The Mark of Cain. The thing that had gotten them here today. She could let them all die, let Heaven win, or she could sacrifice herself to save them all.

It took the last of the energy Zephaniah had to reach out and grip Dean's arm, her hand firm over The Mark.

"Yes," she said.

Dean frowned, and Zephaniah knew he didn't understand what was happening. That was all for the best, she decided, as reality began to fade, and Zephaniah slipped away into nothingness.

By some sort of miracle, the bunker was restored nearly the same moment that Zephaniah had uttered her last word. Dean still wished he could have made out what she was saying, that he could have made some sense of that last moment with her.

Her body was laid out on his bed now. He had sat by her for hours, waiting for it all to be a horrible nightmare. No matter how hard Dean prayed, how long he waited, Zephaniah did not stir.

The argument with Sam and Castiel over burying her or burning her was perhaps the most intense Dean had had with his brother and best friend. He refused to give her a hunter's funeral; burning her body meant that there was no bringing her back. Perhaps he would further damn himself in the process, but Dean knew that he could not go on without Zephaniah.

He returned to his room, prepared to carry her outside of the bunker where they had all agreed Zephaniah would be buried, but she was gone. Her limp body was no longer weighing on his mattress.

Panicked, Dean spun around to alert Sam and Castiel, but the very being of his concern stopped him in his tracks.

"Hello, Dean."

Zephaniah's smile was hers. Her voice was hers, and her hair and her body. The clothes were her own, the way she did her makeup. Dean's heart relaxed, until his mind could process the two things Zephaniah now possessed that had not belonged to her before.

Reaching for that familiar spot on his arm, Dean realized The Mark was gone. It was now situated comfortably just below Zephaniah's collar bone, given away by the low-cut shirt she was wearing.

 _Yes_.

Dean replayed the moment just before Zephaniah died in his mind. Her grip on his arm, right where The Mark had been, and her last word.

 _Yes._

Zephaniah had said yes to The Mark, and then she had died – only for as long as The Mark would allow. She had come back, but the Zephaniah standing in front of Dean now was not the Zephaniah he knew. No, this was a new Zephaniah, one with The Mark of Cain burned into her chest and eyes Dean didn't recognize staring back at him.

Those demonic, black eyes.


End file.
